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BY BURGES JOHNSON 



RHYMES OF HOME 

12 mo. cloth. By mail. $1.10 

RHYMES OF LITTLE BOYS 

In two colors. 12 mo. cloth. By mail, $1.10 

YEAR BOOK OF HUMOR 

12mo. cloth. 60 cents 



THOMAS Y. CROWELL & CO. 



RHYMES OF HOME 



^^^^^^^i^^^i^^i^^^^^^fi^^^^^^^^^^^^ 



Bl)|>me0 of Jlome 

BY 

BURGES JOHNSON 

Author of "Rhymes of Little Boys," "Pleasant 
Tragedies of Childhood," etc. 



I 
MATING 

II 
BUILDING 



ni 

YEAR IN AND YEAR OUT 

IV 
LITTLE FOLK 



NEW YORK 

(ZTbomafi g, Crotoell ^ Companp 






Copyright, 1910, 
By Thomas Y. Crowell & Ca 



Published September. 1910. 



The University Press, Cambridge, U.S.A. 



©CLA2689G4 



DEDICATION 



IF only we knew just what Home is, there 
might be a rhyme about it to set upon 
this page. The house is not the Home; it 
is no more than a shell, and empty enough 
at times. Friendly chairs, a rug, a table, 
thumbed books, and some beloved picture 
— these are not Home, though the warmth 
and glow of Home, like reflected firelight, 
may flicker from them all. No, it cannot 
be defined ; but this we do know : it is made 
up of sorrow as well as joy, and a multi- 
tude of treasured every-days. And it bears 
some close relationship to children. For if 
the word Home does not conjure at once 
to your mind some wee face, some shrill 
welcoming shout, some clinging little fist, it 
is almost sure to stir up a scene from your 
own childhood. The rhymes brought to- 
gether here have but one excuse for their 
wide variety — a spirit of home bade the 
writing of them all. And one thing I do 
know about Home, — it may be found 
wherever She is, to whom I dedicate this 
book! 



Vll 



CONTENTS 

MATING Page 

Her Painted Fan 15 

The Oracle 17 

Since Mary Came Back from Paree . 19 
Verses with Nosegays on Valentine's 

Day 22 

Farmington 24 

When Cupid Fought with Father Time 27 

An Olde Serenade 28 

Dreamland 31 

At Sunset 32 

BUILDING 

The Village Street 35 

The Soul of the House 36 

Ghosts 38 

The Building of an Adirondack Lodge 41 

Completion 44 

YEAR IN AND YEAR OUT 

Realization 49 

Why Doth a Pussy Cat? 51 



Content^ 

Page 

Remarks to my Grown-up Pup ... 53 

Rhapsody on a Dog's Intelligence . . 55 

Any Housewife to any Crumb ... 58 

Sleeplessness 60 

Clamming 63 

Mexico 66 

Travel 68 

The Humble Pilgrim 70 

Death and the Sculptor 71 

When Old Age Comes 73 

LITTLE FOLK 

When the Child is King 79 

Fortified 80 

A Toast 82 

Ballade of the Little Things that Count 83 

Grace 85 

A Reggerler Wriggler 86 

Anthropology 88 

Strategic 89 

Losted 91 

No Traveler 92 

" Hear my Dollies' Prayer " .... 93 

X 



€ontcnt$ 

Page 

Mending Day 95 

The Missionary's Daughter .... g6 

Good Hunting 97 

The Backward Class 98 

The Fly in the Ointment 99 

At the Aquarium 100 

"Pals" 102 

Runned Away 103 

Cows 104 

With Sister's Dolls 105 

The Anxious Farmer 107 

Unrest 109 

The Chinese Doll and the Baby . . no 

When I get into Bed 112 

Accounting of Stock 114 

Economisin' 116 

Hanging the Stockings 118 

The Eavesdroppers 120 

Father Speaks 121 

An Old Christmas Carol 123 



XI 



Acknowledgment is due to Harper's Magazine, Every- 
body's Magazine, Good Housekeeping, Ladies' Home Journal, 
Ladies' World, and Leslie's Weekly for permission to use 
a number of the poems brought together here. 



MATING 



HER PAINTED FAN 

TTLFIN skill, no power of man, 

^^ Since the mortal race began, 

Could have wrought the slender fabric of 

her dainty painted fan, 
With its quaint old woodland scene, 
And the lovers, mid the sheen 
Of the sunlight sifting dreamily through 

walls of leafy green. 



As I sway it to and fro 

I can feel the breezes blow, 

And I hear the tender whisperings of lovers, 
soft and low, 

With the droning of the bees. 

And the rustling of the trees. 

And the far-off scent of roses borne like 
incense on the breeze. 

Only elfin fingers wrought. 

For the fan is magic fraught. 

As I touch it comes a vision, filling, sway- 
ing every thought; 
15 



^tt ^ainteti fan 



And that quaint old woodland place, 
Where the shadows interlace 
With the branches, is but background for 
the vision of her face. 



i6 



€f)c (©racle 



THE ORACLE 

I love; Three, I 



*'J^NE, I love; Two, 
^^ love I say," 



say. 
Dainty petals, one by one, lightly float 

away. 
Will thy secret ne'er be told, oracle of 

white and gold? 



" Four, I love with all my heart ; Five, I 

cast away,'* 
Snowy petals, still a score, marshaled in 

array. 
Yield thy secret, I entreat, saucy, smiling 

Marguerite. 



" He loves " — that I too well know, 
" She loves " — only tell me so ! 
Though I bless thee for the word, 
I would doubt the ear that heard. 

17 



€&c (©racle 



Yield thy secret, I entreat; Love could 
never wait. 

Be it bitter, be it sweet, I would know my 
fate; 

I am kneeling at thy feet, heartless, charm- 
ing. Marguerite! 



i8 



Mntt !^arp Came 25acft from ^aree 



SINCE MARY CAME BACK 
FROM PAREE 

SINCE Mary came back from Paree, 
Ah me, 
We coldly pass by on the street. 
She really has no time for me, you see, 
With counts and markees at her feet. 
She wriggles her shoulders and murmurs 

" Bongswaugh ! " — 
The prettiest shoulders that ever you 

saw! — 
And carries herself with such — avoidu- 

pwaugh — 
Since Mary came back from Paree. 



Since Mary came back from Paree, Ah me. 
She 's broken my heart into bits. 
Her other old sweethearts agree that she 
Has taken French leave of her wits. 
19 



^ince ^atp €a\m 25acft fcom i|aree 

She pats her French poodle and eats a bon- 

mot, 
And does her hair " avec Champignons " — 

such rot, 
(You may think I am foreign myself, but 

I 'm not) 
Since Mary came back from Paree. 



Since Mary came back from Paree, Ah me, 

I have n't got used to her yet. 

I tremble a bit in the knee, je fee. 

Whenever she tries her lorgnette. 

But in her Parisienne gown she 's a dear, — 

Decollite skirt, made of blue cheffonier, — 

(I 'm not very firm in my phrases, I fear) 

Since Mary came back from Paree. 



Since Mary came back from Paree, Ah me. 
She even has altered her name. 
You'll always be Mary to me, Marie, 
From now till the end of the game. 

20 



<^ince 09arp Came 25acft from ^aree 

But if she continues with so much eclat, 
I '11 learn her queer lingo and woo her in 

that. — 
I have n't been happy in English, that 's 

flat. 
Since Mary came back from Paree. 



21 



"Btt^t^ on l^aientine'^ Bap 



VERSES WITH NOSEGAYS 
ON VALENTINE^S DAY 

T ADY fair, orchid rare 
-^^^ Loses luster in thy hair! 

For it vies with thine eyes, 

Where a rarer luster lies. 
Lowly buds are these, but lo. 
Heart and homage with them go! 



Dear lady, these flowers I heap in your 

arms 
Are part of the tribute I pay to your 

charms. 
And if you don't care for the rhymes I 'm 

discursin', 
And if you must smile at the halt in my 

versin*, 
Blame Cupid, who gave me small time to 

rehearse in! 

22 



Ber^e^ on Balentine*^ 2Dap 

O sweet queen of hearts, I pray love imparts 
Importance to all of these flowers, 

For never, I ween, may knave win a queen, 
Unless he be one of the bowers! 



23 



jfatmington 



FARMINGTON 

T T THEN Patience trod the village street 
^ ^ two hundred years ago, 
The country-side was fairer far than in 
these days, I 'm told ; 
And all the bards and romanceers would 
have us modems know 
That " nowadays '* can never be like to 
the days of old. 
The skies were then a deeper blue, and 
whiter was the snow. 
When Patience trod the village street two 
hundred years ago. 

When Patience trod the village street in 
that dim, bygone day. 
The gray-haired blacksmith left his forge, 
the scribe laid down his pen. 
And all peered out to see her pass a-tripping 
on her way — 
For poets sing that village maids were far 
more comely then. 
24 



fatmington 



And gallant swains bore flint-lock guns to 
fend them from the foe, 
When Patience trod the village street 
two hundred years ago. 



Since Patience trod the village street, the 
artist, Father Time, 
Has not undone his handiwork — the 
picture is the same; 
Save that the gray majestic elms were then 
but in their prime — 
And Nature sings each year new songs 
to put the bards to shame; 
Full half the valley's fairest charms were 
then unborn, I know, 
When Patience trod the village street, 
two hundred years ago. 



And where she trod, now tread the feet 
of groups of merry maids. 
To make the scribe throw down his pen 
and to the casement fly: 

25 



farmlngton 



A fig for bards and romanceers (who sit 
behind drawn shades) 
If they will leave To-day for me, I '11 
give them Days Gone By! 
For Patience in a golfing-cape is fairer far 
I know 
Than when she trod the village street 
two hundred years ago. 



26 



i©J)en Cupiti fougljt fatten €tmc 



WHEN CUPID FOUGHT 
WITH FATHER TIME 

HELPLESS I gazed upon the fray 
When Cupid fought with Father 
Time; 
I viewed it as some pantomime, 
Nor could I speak to bid them stay, — 
Though my heart in the balance lay. 

The battle theirs, — but mine the crime : 
Helpless I gazed upon the fray 

When Cupid fought with Father Time. 

It was no battle of a day; 

Watching, I heard the requiem chime 
Of dying yeairs that left me gray — 

Slow years, that found me in my prime. 
Helpless I gazed upon the fray 

When Cupid fought with Father Time. 



27 



%n <©lDe ^etenatie 



AN OLDE SERENADE 

T T THEN the twilight died away, 

^ ^ Cupid murmured o'er me, — 
What I dare not tell by day. 

Night may whisper for me. 
Sweet Thy slumber. Sweetheart mine, 

I 'd not cause Thy waking. 
If of one brief dream of Thine 

I but had the making. 

Softlie sleep, 

Slumber deep, 

God of Dreams his vigil keep ; 

If among his train, dream-laden, 

Sweetest dream find sweetest maiden, 

Swift a-wing. 

It would bring 

Smiles to Thee, a-slumbering ! 

Night draws round me like a shroud. 

All ye world 's in hiding ; 
0*er me, through a gloomy cloud. 

Swift ye moon is gliding. 
28 



3llu ODltie .rf^crcnatic 



If Thou wake not, I entreat, 

By yon star above Thee, 
That ye Dream-God tell Thee, Sweet, 

Half of how I love Thee. 



Softlie sleep, 

Slumber deep, 

God of Dreams his vigil keep ; 

Dream-stars, watching o'er Thy slumber, 

Sing of love in countless number. 

Till their song. 

Sweet and strong, 

Lingers with Thee all day long ! 



Clouds have hid each gleaming star, — 

Darkness draws about me; 
Darker, sadder, drearer far 

Were my world without Thee. 
Lo, the last faint beams depart. 

While my Love lies dreaming, — 
Night is never in my heart 

Where Thy face is beaming. 
29 



SUtt <©toe ^erena&e 



Softlie sleep, 

Slumber deep, 

God of Dreams his vigil keep ; 

While the stars that twinkle o'er Thee, 

Fading, fading, out before Thee, 

Never shine, Sweetheart mine. 

Half so bright as Thy dear eyne. 



30 



2DreamIanti 



DREAMLAND 

T^AIR are the shores of the Dreamland 
^ Isles, 

Edged by a sea of mist, 
Where every woodland becks and smiles, 
And a cooling zephyr of Spring beguiles 

To the land of the lovers' tryst. 

Sweet are the songs of the Isle of Dreams, 

Songs with no need of tongue; 
And a memory, bitter-sweet it seems. 
Through a dreamland melody glows and 
gleams. 
That the angels might have sung. 

Dear are the thoughts of the Dreamland 
Isles, 
Thoughts of the days that were; 
And where she roamed, the woodland smiles. 
While every path she trod beguiles 
To linger and dream of her. 
31 



set ^un^et 



AT SUNSET 

MARK where the shadows of the twi- 
light fall 
And creep across the meadows to thy feet, 
And lingering sunbeams pause to kiss thee, 

Sweet, 
Ere hurrying homeward at their lord's 

recall 
To wait with him night's dark and gloomy 

pall. 
But hark, I hear the rosy hills repeat 
The promise of new day. 

With swifter beat 
My heart grows big with love of thee, 

of all! 
And vale and woodland voice a glad refrain ; 
While the full splendor of the golden glow 
Rests on my vision with a weight of pain. 
Why mar the glory of it with a show 
Of gaudy words? Our silence is not vain — 
Sweet silence, when thou knowest and I 

know. 

32 



BUILDING 



€l)e Billase Street 



THE VILLAGE STREET 

T ARCH and maple and spreading elm, 
^-^ In fluted and clustered colonnade — 
Great-girthed branches that might have 
strayed 
From the wooded heart of a wilder 
realm — 
Stemming the sunlight that seeks to whelm 

In a liquid torrent of yellow glow 
The leaf-ships, sailing about below, 
Guided by zephyrs at every helm; 
While heaped up wrecks, red, gold, and 
green. 
Rustle softly about your feet. 

Man's work is clothed in a golden sheen, 
And God's work smiles and the air is 
sweet : 

Peace, God's peace, in the pleasant scene, 
A-down the length of the village street. 



35 



€I)e ^oul of t^t 1$on$t 



THE SOUL OF THE HOUSE 

T OCUST timbers, brick and stones 

^"^ Are its bones; 

And I saw them wrought together 

In the keen autumnal weather, 

Joint by joint and bone by bone to fit a 

plan. 
As sages build of fossil forms some unre- 

membered man. 

Lath and shingle for a skin 
Clad it in; 

And it took on form and feature 
As of some familiar creature, 
Standing silently in dull, repellent guise, 
And souUessly it looked on me from staring 
window-eyes. 

My own soul-seed, deep in earth 
At my birth. 

Lay as lifeless and as hidden. 
By the sun and rain unbidden, 

36 



€6e J^oul of tt^t 1$on$t 



Until Love had fed it smiles and tears and 

toil, — 
Then green and gracious buds of it came 

forcing through the soil. 

So my house there reared its head, 

Cold and dead. 

With a chill to linger always, — 

Till Love breathed along its hallways, 

Laughed and wept there, toiled and dreamt 

there in the gloam; 
Now those window-eyes are brimming with 

the wakened soul of Home. 



37 



«!BI^03StjS 



GHOSTS 

"All houses wherein men have lived and died are 
haunted houses." 

1% yr INE are not the grave-damp ghosts 
^^•^ Of some hoar and storied palace, 
Haunt of long dead battle hosts, 

Where each battered plate and chalice 
Of its bloody looting boasts. 



Not some old wives' gibbering specter 
With no higher earthly aim 

Than to howl and clank and hector, 
Playing at a childish game, 

Frightening its tomb's protector. 

Yet my ghosts all seemed to yearn 

For a human habitation 
Friendlier than marbled urn, — 

And the weight of obligation 
Haunted me at every turn. 
38 



<i5t^o$t0 



So our walls were reared amain 
Fit to shield from bitter weather; 

Not alone to house us twain 

But to bid our ghosts together, — 

Neither did we build in vain. 

For we saw that shrines were made 
In the house of our belonging, 

So that when the hearth was laid. 
Friendly spirits round it thronging 

Crowded out each evil shade. 

Set we heirlooms here and there. 
Jetsam of old days and graces; 

With the pride that is a prayer 
Set we them in honored places. 

Toward these shrines our phantoms fare. 

Daily up and down the stair 

Forms we knew and loved are flitting. 
Room to room and here and there, — 

Or as One I oft find sitting 
In that slight old-fashioned chair. 
39 



OBI^o^t^ 



All the thoughts that measure true 
To Her gentle heart's conviction; 

Deeds She might have bid us do, 
Win a blessed benediction 

0*er the home She never knew. 

Many a long-forgotten one 

Comes with loving eyes and jealous 
To the home but just begun, 

Pleading for a spirit zealous 
At some task he left undone. 

So as friends they gather near, 
Warning us by their dead errors, 

Stirring us to persevere; 
And the darkness holds no terrors 

With our ghosts to give us cheer! 



40 



€{)e 25uiltiing of an Sltiirontiach Sotige 



THE BUILDING OF AN 
ADIRONDACK LODGE 

SING, sing, 
While the hammers ring: 
The fragrant yellow timbers swing 
And creak — and strain — 
To a glad refrain 

Of the rasping saw and the driving plane, 
While plank meets beam in a firm caress — 
Building a lodge in the wilderness. 

The timid folk 

Of the woods awoke 

At the alien sound of the hammer stroke, 

And fled afar in a frightened throng; 

But the forest smiled 

At each throbbing child 

And bid it join in the Building Song — 

" Sing, sing. 

While the hammers ring: 
It is not fear that the builders bring, 
41 



€l|e 25uiltiing of an Sfitiirontiacft Jtotige 

And the rasping saw 
In the timbers raw- 
Is serving those who love my Law. 
Put by thy fear and thy vague distress, 
Be glad for the lodge in the wilderness." 

The mountain heard, 

And his great heart stirred 

At sound of the forest-mother's word. 

And he spake to the mists that were flying 

free: 
And he called aloud 
To the black storm-cloud, — 
And his voice was the voice of the mighty 

sea: — 

"Sing, sing. 

While the hammers ring: 
I too know those who do this thing! 
The summers fleet 
Have seemed more sweet 
Since first they nestled at my feet. 
'T is mine to guard from storm and stress 
The rising lodge in the wilderness." 
42 



€{)e 25uilbin0 of an SCtiirondacft HloDge 

The lofty pine — the trailing vine, 

All cry " Guard well that hearth of thine, 

Ye roof £tnd rafters reared above ! " 

And the echoing sigh 

Of the lake floats by — 

" Keep guard, ye walls, o'er those we love ! " 

Sing, sing, 

While the hammers ring: 

The great trees sway in welcoming: 

The sharp blows fall 

While the wood-folk call — 

And the forest-mother answers all — ■ 

" Sing, sing, in thy happiness. 

And welcome the lodge in the wilderness." 



43 



Completion 



COMPLETION 

JUST a little strip of land — 
Can it be? 
Far away, a gleam of sand, 

And the sea. 
I had dreamed of such a thing 
In some sunny, bygone Spring, 
But the fancies all took wing 
With the winter's jeopardy. 

There 's a cottage door thrown wide ; 

Can it be? 
Broad-porched, where the sunbeams hide; 

And a tree, — 
And perhaps a bit of sod 
Where the drooping branches nod, — 
Such a spot I scarce had trod. 
Ran my fancy e'er so free! 

All the tightening bonds of home — 

Can it be? 
Hope of green buds 'neath the loam; 

And I see 

44 



Completion 



Down the vista of the years 
Other hopes transcending fears, — 
Hopes that shimmer through the tears 
Of a tenderest memory. 

But the love that all-pervades — 

Can it be? 
When each bud bursts, blooms and fades, 

And the tree 
Is a ruin crowned witl^ vine ; 
Yet that priceless gift of thine 
Will be hearth and home of mine 

Unto all eternity. 



45 



YEAR IN AND YEAR OUT 



l!!eaIt5atiDn 



REALIZATION 

^^F the fabric of filmy dreams, Dear, 
^^ I wrought in the days gone by, 
And I built me a land whose golden strand 

Lay under a shining sky; 
None knew the road to that far abode 

Save only my dreams and I. 

There were paths for my every whim, 
Dear, — 

Hills for the boldest view, — 
For humbler moods the valley roads 

To deeds that I meant to do: 
And byways fair found vistas rare 

All fashioned of hopes come true. 

There came a maid to my dreams, Dear, 

One time as I wandered wide. 
And it scarcely seemed that I could have 
dreamed 
That we wandered side by side; 
For hand in hand we roamed the land, 
And the worfd was glorified. 
49 



^eali^atiott 



That realm is fading away, Dear, 
Its heights I can scarce define; 

The winding road to the far abode 
Is a tangle of weed and vine. 

Yet — wondrous thing! — though the dreams 
took wing, 
Her hand still rests in mine. 



50 



J©f)P 2Dotf) a ^u^^p €at? 



WHY DOTH A PUSSY CAT? 

WHY doth a pussy cat prefer, 
When dozing, drowsy, on the sill, 
To purr and purr and purr and purr 

Instead of merely keeping still? 
With nodding head and folded paws 
She keeps it up without a cause. 

Why doth she flaunt her lofty tail 
In such a stiff right-angled pose? 

If lax and limp she let it trail 
*T would seem more restful, goodness 
knows ! 

When strolling 'neath the chairs or bed 

She lets it bump above her head. 

Why doth she suddenly refrain 
From anything she *s busied in. 

And start to wash, with might and main. 
Most any place upon her skin? 

Why doth she pick that special spot, 

Not seeing if it's soiled or not? 
51 



i©I)P 2DDtf| a l^u^^p Cat? 

Why doth she never seem to care 
To come directly when you call, 

But makes approach from here and there, 
Or sidles half around the wall? 

Though doors are opened at her mew. 

You often have to push her through. 

Why doth she this? Why doth she that? 

I seek for cause, — I yearn for clews ; 
The subject of the pussy cat 

Doth endlessly inspire the mews. 
Why doth a pussy cat? Ah me, 
I have n't got the least idee ! 



52 



TSemarft^ to mp 4Brotott:^up ^np 



REMARKS TO MY GROWN- 
UP PUP 

BY rules of fitness and of tense, 
By all old canine precedents, 
Oh Adult Dog, the time is up 
When I may fondly call you Pup. 
The years have sped since first you stood 
In straddle-legged puppyhood, — 

A watch-pup, proud of your renown, 
Who barked so hard you tumbled down. 
In Age's gain and Youth's retreat 
You 've found more team-work for your feet. 
You drool a soupgon less, and hark! 
There 's fuller meaning to your bark. 
But answer fairly, whilom pup, 
Are these full proof of growing up? 

I heard an elephantine tread 
That jarred the rafters overhead: 
Who leaped in mad abandon there 
And tossed my slippers in the air? 
53 



iSiemarft^ to mp aBroton^up ^up 

WhOi sitting gravely on the rug, 
Espied a microscopic bug 

And stalked it, gaining bit by bit, — 

Then leapt in air and fell on it? 
Who gallops madly down the breeze 
Pursuing specks that no one sees. 

Then finds some ancient boot instead 

And worries it till it is dead? 
/ have no adult friends who choose 
To gnaw the shoe-strings from my shoes, — 

Who eat up twine and paper scraps 

And bark while they are taking naps. 
Oh Dog, you offer every proof 
That stately age yet holds aloof. 

Grown up? There 's meaning in the 
phrase 

Of dignity as well as days. 
Oh why such size, beloved pup? — 
You've grown enough, but not grown up. 



54 



jltljap^otip on a SDog's JnteUigcnce 



RHAPSODY ON A DO&S 
INTELLIGENCE 

TTXEAR dog, that seems to stand and 
^^ gravely brood 
Upon the broad veranda of our home 
With soulful eyes that gaze into the 
gloam — 
With speaking tail that registers thy 
mood, — 
Men say thou hast no ratiocination; 
Methinks there is a clever imitation. 

Men say again thy kindred have no souls, 
And sin is but an attribute of men ; 
Say, is it chance alone that bids thee, then, 
Choose only garden spots for digging holes? 
Why dost thou filch some fragment of the 

cooking 
At times when no one seemeth to be 
looking? 

55 



^5l)ap^otlp on a Wos*^ InteUigence 

Was there an early Adam of thy race, 
And brindled Eve, the mother of thy 

house. 
Who shared some purloined chicken with 
her spouse, 
Thus causing all thy tribe to fall from 
grace? 
If fleas dwelt in the garden of that Adam 
Perhaps thy sinless parents never had 'em. 

This morn thou cam'st a-slinking through 

the door. 
Avoiding eyes, and some dark corner 

sought, 
And though no accusation filled our 

thought, 
Thy tail, apologetic, thumped the floor. 
Who claims thou hast no conscience, 

argues vainly, 
For I have seen its symptoms very plainly. 

What leads thee to forsake thy board and 
bed 
On days that are devoted to thy bath? 
For if it is not reason yet it hath 

56 



iUftap^olip on a SDog's Intelliecnce 



Appearance of desire to plan ahead! 
The sage who claims thy brain and soul be 

wizen 
Would do quite well to swap thy head for 
his'n. 



57 



Sllnp I^ou^etoife to anp Crumfi 



ANY HOUSEWIFE TO ANY 
CRUMB 

T WILL seek you through the room with 
* my broom. 

Little crumb. 
Ha! Have at thee! To thy doom 

Now succumb! 
You were meant for something greater. 
You 'd a nobler raison d'etre, 
Than the curses of the waiter. 

Little crumb. 



For in realms of literature you endure, 

Little crumb; 
And to social status sure 

You have come. 
Tablecloth and silver tray, 
Scraper, brush, and napkin gay 
Toil for you three times a day. 

Little crumb. 

58 



Sllnp i^ou^etDife to anp €rum& 

But you were my childhood's foe, long ago, 

Little crumb; 
My betrayer, even though 

You were dumb. — 
And in bed, when I dared eat. 
You would creep around the sheet 
And all night annoy my feet. 

Little crumb. 



Insignificant and small as you fall. 

Little crumb. 
And of no account at all 

Unto some, 
I am sure Goliath was 
Half your size, for dear me Suz! 
Mighty is as mighty does. 

Little crumb. 



59 



Mttfilt^0m^$ 



SLEEPLESSNESS 

'T^HE Day 's at war with Night 

* Within my weary brain. 
The helpless, broken battleground 
Throbs 'neath the whirl of Sight and Sound 
And prays for Sleep in vain 
To end the fight. 
The Day 's at war with Night ; 
The foemen fast increase, 
And mobs of maddened Daytime Thought 
Through frenzied hours have fiercely fought 
Till panic reigns. And Peace 
Flees in affright. 
Tick lock 

Hear the ticking of the clock 
Wee, wounded Dreams, 
All faint of breath. 
In dying, raise their stricken heads 
And view the victor, where he treads 
A track that teems 
With death. 

60 



^leepk^^nc^^ 



Tick lock tick iock 

Hark! But shall a Peaceful Sound 
Live long on such a battleground — 
While all the four horizons rock 
With din and crash and cry and shock, 
And babel shouts abound? 
Yet I mark 
How the Dark 

Yields not to their whelming might — 
Bends, but does not break in flight; 
Forward leaping, creeping, crawling 
Toward the foe in force appalling, — 
Like a reenforcement falling 
Where the fire of conflict burns! 
In a rally. Sight and Sound 
Seek in vain to hem it round, 
Shriek again and yet again, 
Mass in front their mighty men — 
Yet the tide of battle turns. 
While they keep 
Silence deep 
Creeping come the scouts of Sleep. 

Tick tock 

Calmly, softly, sounds the clock 
6i 



Mttpit^^nt^^ 



Sleep holds unbroken sway. 
The Dream-tribes in her train 
Upon the peaceful battleground 
In trim white tents encamp around. 
And Night has conquered Day 
Within my weary brain. 



62 



€Iammtng 



CLAMMING 

OH sing your songs of the silly chase, 
And listen he who will, 
Of red-clad men who madly race 

Perspiring up a hill, 
And flop-eared dogs that run about 

A-mouthing savage bays, 
While some lone fox among the rocks 
Looks on in mild amaze. 

Oh lilt your lays of the coveyed quail 

'Mid the covers' matted thorn, 
And a patient dog with an index tail. 

In place of a huntsman's horn; 
Sing too of your sylvan water-hole 

With paw-prints all about, — 
But me for the reach of a clammy beach 

When the tide is running out! 

A four-pronged fork of handy size, 
And a bucket in our hand, 
63 



Clammms 



With downcast, steady, searching eyes 
We stalk the salt sea strand. 

And what 's the whir of a startled wing, 
Or a guide's monition curt, — 

What 's Tally Ho, to the cry we know — 
"AHOY! THE CLAMS! THEY SQUIRT!" 

The tide was low in old Cow Bay, 

The opal sea was ca'm. 
When scarce I'd started on my way 

I flushed a flock of clam! 
A skillful dig with my sturdy steel, 

And the leader I had bagged. 
Before he'd stirred to warn the herd, 

I had him bound and gagged. 

Ye butcher-men whose scatt'ring shot 

May spread a field with gore, 
I gain a finer thrill, I wot. 

In digging on the shore. 
Your desecrating, dreadful bangs 

Reecho through a grove; 
My skillful wrist, my thrust and twist 

Reveal the treasure trove. 
64 



Clamming 



I too can miss my aim as well; 

It chills one's pulsing blood 
To pounce upon a noble shell 

And find it full of mud. 
When you, home-bent, are gore begrimed, 

I 'm stained with cleanly dirt ; 
'Mid ozone sweet, up-shore I beat, 

And sing, "Ahoy! They squirt!" 

P.S. — They're washed within a pot 

And drained until they 're white. 
They 're covered, on a stove that 's hot — 

(Add water half their height). 
They're done the minute they boil up; 

Oh joy too vast to utter! 
You drink the bouillon from a cup 

And dip the clams in butter. 



6s 



a^crico 



MEXICO 

TTJ LO W, you sweet southwestembreezes, — 
^■^ All my sky is grim and gray I 
Blow, before my spirit freezes 

In a land where ice-fiends play. 
Soften these unsmiling faces, 

Mould them with a gentle hand; 
Bring a hint of Latin graces, 

Whisper of a tazy land. 
Saw you any cactus blooming, 

Heavy-scented, white as snow? 
Swaying cane-fields wave their pluming, — 

And against a svmset glow 
Ragged purple mountains looming? — 

Saw you aught of Mexico? 

Blow, you turbulent northeasters. 
Sweeping down on mighty wing! 

Blow, you frozen-hearted feasters 
Who devour the buds of spring. 

Howl and whine about my casement. 
Spirits of a leaden sky — 
66 



^txito 



Leave your mantles of effacement 

Gleaming white as you hurl by. 
See, my spirit leaps and strides you, 

Shouting with you as you go — 
Toward the fair southwest it rides you, 

Leaving gloom and storm and snow; 
Toward a balmy doom it guides you, — 

Sweet and sunny Mexico. 

I am driving great-homed cattle 

Where the tiny deer-tracks lead. 
I am bent in merry battle 

With a wiry, stubborn steed. 
While my soul sings glad hosanna. 

Breathing life, and leaving care 
To a faint and far manana, — 

In the land of open air. 
What though every wind be sweeping 

Through this gray land to and fro. 
In my dreams my heart is leaping 

To some wild sweet songs I know, — 
With those rainbow mountains keeping 

Mystic guard in Mexico. 



67 



€rabel 



TRAVEL 

^T^HERE 'S a challenge that mere Distance 
^ Seems to flaunt, in grim resistance, 
At the spirit of a man. 
How it courts annihilation, 
Till we rend it with elation, 
Span from span! 

With our warhorses of thunder 
Do we puny mortals plunder 

Miles and moments of their power. 
Passing Nature's stoutest barriers, 
With our iron-sinewed carriers 

In an hour. 

And our pride craves new dominions 
With the strengthening of our pinions. 

With new forces at command; 
Till no spot seems fair to stay in, 
With the whole wide world to play in, 

Sea or land. 

68 



€tabel 



We were nomads, ever ranging, 
Gypsies camping, flitting, changing — 

Bidding endless paths unfold. 
Save that in each heart deep-hidden 
Lies a force that moves unbidden. 

Uncontrolled. 

There 's a tugging whose insistence 
Seems to grow with greater distance, 

As a continent we roam. 
And an endless skein behind us 
Holds a slender thread that binds us 

Fast to Home. 

Come then, Sweetheart, join my travel, 
See the warp of roads unravel, 

See old vistas wrought anew ; 
Though 't were desert, field, or heather, 
Yet when we fare forth together. 

Home comes too ! 



69 



€l)e i^umBIe pilgrim 



THE HUMBLE PILGRIM 

TT OPING, groping, stumbling on, — 
^ ^ Finding thorns where I seek a staff. 
Tripped by stones that were steps anon, 
I know not where is my rightful path : 
The torch that lured me forth is gone. 
What though a stretch of plainer way 
Cheers me on to the unknown mark, 
Bids me feel that I may not stray, — 
Signposts, looming out of the dark. 
Cry confusion and bid me stay. 

Hoping, groping bravely on, 
You make some hindering thorn a staff ; 
Each stumbling-block you mount upon ! 
No old-time torch can light your path, 
'T would only blind you if it shone ! 
What though the signposts bid you stay, — 
The one who reared them knew not you ; 
They only stand to mark his v/ay. 
You cannot keep a goal in view. 
To-day wants more than Yesterday ! 
70 



2Deatf) anb tfte Sculptor 



DEATH AND THE 
SCULPTOR 

(Bas-relief by D. C. French) 

*T3 EST awhile, thou sturdy worker," 
^^ And the weary one obeyed, 
While his mallet fell beside him 

And his upraised hand was stayed; 
And his eyes were full of wonder — 

Naught of terror or alarm, — 
As he saw the angel near him. 

Felt her touch upon his arm. 



" Rest awhile, thou sturdy worker, 

Lo, thy toil to-day is done," 
And the artist turned in wonder 

From the task but scarce begun. 
For his soul was in his labor — 

In his eyes a question lay. 
Yet the eyes of Death were kindly, 

And he laid the tools away. 
71 



2Deatl) anti tijc Sculptor 



" Rest awhile, thou sturdy worker," 

And the question he would ask 
In her eyes has found an answer — 

We but see the half-done task. 
And our grieving hearts grow bitter 

Left to battle on alone. 
Measuring a Father's wisdom 

With the measure of our own. 



72 



Wf^tn <&\^ %st €omc!5 



WHEN OLD AGE COMES 

TF God grant me old age 
^ I would see some things finished; 
some outworn ; 
Some stone prepared for builders yet 
unborn. 
Nor would I be the sated, weary sage 
Who sees no strange new wonder in 
each morn. 
And with me there on what men call the 
shelf 
Crowd memories from which I cull the 

best, — 
And live old strifes, old kisses, some old 
jest; 
For if I be no burden to myself 
I shall be less a burden to the rest. 
73 



I©f)en (©lb Slse €omt$ 



If God grant you old age, 

I '11 love the record writ in whitened 

hair, 
I '11 read each wrinkle wrought by pa- 
tient care, 
As oft as one would scan a treasured page, 
Knowing by heart each sentence graven 
there. 
I 'd have you know life's evil and life's 
good, 
And gaze out calmly, sweetly on it all — 
Serene with hope, whatever may befall; 
As though a love-strong spirit ever stood 
With arm about you, waiting any call. 

If God grant us old age, 

I 'd have us very lenient toward our 

kind, 
Letting our waning senses first grow 
blind 
Toward sins that youthful zealots can 
engage, 
While we hug closer all the good we 
find. 

74 



Wf^tn (©III %st €c\m$ 



I*d have us worldly foolish, heaven wise, 
Each lending each frail succor to with- 
stand. 
Ungrudging, ev'ry mortal day's demand; 
While fear-fed lovers gaze in our old eyes, 
And go forth bold and glad and hand in 
hand. 



75 



LITTLE FOLK 



Wl^m tt^t €l^tlti i^ Ulins 



WHEN THE CHILD IS KING 

TQ ABE, so long ago enshrined 
^-^ In a stable bare and gray, 
Something of Thy sweeter mind, 
Of Thy love for all Thy kind. 

Rules us on Thy natal day. 
And because a shepherd band, — 

Sages, too, with gifts in train, — 
Knelt and kissed a baby hand, 
Yearning for some wee command, 

So to-day a child shall reign. 



79 



fortificti 



FORTIFIED 

T ITTLE dear heart, tiny wonderer, 
^■^ With round eyes that search clean 

through one, 
Little tender-fisted sunderer 

Of my old world and my new one, — 
Whence the sunbeam warm that dances 
In those mirthful baby glances? 

If that other world endowed thee 
With a soul of crystal clearness. 

When our dullened earth has cowed thee 
With its mortal burden's nearness, 

Who am I to give thee training 

To withstand a life's explaining? 

Even now I see an answer 

In the little arms upflinging. 
In thy dimples, wee entrancer, 

And thy blithesome, wordless singing. 
Love and gentleness and joying 
May withstand old Earth's annoying. 
80 



foirtificb 



Though this life's thick fogs be clouding 

Recollections of some other, 
May no mist-bank e'er come crowding 

'Twixt thee, wee one, and thy mother. 
Hers the gifts for thy preserving: 
I but hope to share in serving! 



% €oa^t 



A TOAST 

'T^ OAST a tyrant band, — skoet in sacred 

chorus ! 
Slaves to our command, — czars who 

trample o'er us. 
Devotees of wrath; source of half our 

troubles ; 
In whose cyclone path cost of living 

doubles. 
Harmless as the doves; butts of fierce 

invective ; 
Life's true spice, and love's unconfessed 

objective. 
Gods of our best selves, bidding us confess 

'em; 
Fairyland's true elves, — To Our Kids, God 
Bless 'Em! 



82 



%itt\t €|)tn0^ t&at €onnt 



BALLADE OF THE LITTLE 
THINGS THAT COUNT 

THE furrow *s long behind my plow — 
My field is strewn with stones of care, 
And trouble gathers thick enow 
As years add silver to my hair. 
Could I an easier path prepare 
For baby feet that start to mount? — 

Save them a bit of wear and tear, — 
And show the little things that count? 



I see a tiny maiden bow 

O'er slate and pencil, in her chair: 
A little pucker on her brow, 

A little tousle in her hair. 

And one wee tear has fallen where 
The crooked figures grin and flount; 

My heart goes reaching to her there — 
I love the little things that count! 
83 



%itt\t ^\^im0 tfjat €ount 

Arithmetic is such a slough — 

A Pilgrim's swamp of full despair. 
But Discipline will not allow 

My hand to point a thoro'fare. 

Harsh figures face us everywhere, 
Overwhelming in their vast amount; 

Must she so soon their burden bear?- 
I love the little things that count! 

Stern Teacher, must she ever fare 
Alone to Learning's chilly fount? 

There is so much I long to share — 
I tave the Little Things That Count! 



84 



oBrace 



GRACE 

T^EAR Lord, bless my bread and meat, 
^■^ And everything I drink and eat, 
And let them make me well and strong 
To keep from ever doing wrong. 
I thank thee. Lord, each day again 
For guarding little boys. Amen. 



8s 



% iSeggetler H^riggler 



A REGGERLER WRIGGLER 

TTTHEN you was as little as me, did 

^ ^ you care 
If they made you stand still while they 

fooled with your hair, 
And combed it and brushed it and told you 
"There, there!"? 
Nurse says, when she lays down the comb 

with a slam, 
I 'm a reggerler wriggler, — maybe I am. 



When I 'm doing my lessons or eating my 

meals 
I have to be still as a mouse, till it feels 
As if I must pound on the floor with my 
heels. 
At church it is awful, — the folks all 

declare 
I *m a reggerler wriggler while I am there. 
86 



ai ^tssttitt wtxssitt 



It is n't so easy, this trying to keep 

Quite still in the daytime, — it hurts me a 

heap. 
And they seem to forget that I 'm still when 
I sleep. 
I think little boys who sit still are a 

sham ; 
/'ma reggerler wriggler, that's what / 
am! 



87 



3llntl)roj>ijlo0p 



ANTHROPOLOGY 

T LOVE my ordernery dolls the best 

^ Of any kind that ever could be bought. 

No foreign doll that Santy ever brought 
Is near so nice, no matter how she 's dressed. 
I hope my Chinese doll has never guessed 

That I don't love him half of what I 
ouffhi I 

I take good care to see that he is taught 
His lessons oftener than all the rest. 

I wish the Dolly-maker would begin 

*■ To mend his ways; I would if I was he! 

'Cause if the dolls that have a yellow skin 

Are heathenish inside as they can be, 
Just think how sensibutler he 'd have been 

To make 'em all Americans like me. 



Strategic 



STRATEGIC 

T T THENEVER I am playing, and I want 

^ ^ to rest a bit, 
I can't lie down a minute, or even stop to 
sit. 
But I hear a Grown-up say, 
" You Ve tired out at play ! 
Come ! Lay aside your little toys, — they '11 
do another day." 



And so I have decided that I really can't 

afford 
To have 'em find me resting of my very 
own accord. 
Cause some one comes along 
Who says " You are not strong, — 
You had n't oughta play so hard, it certainly 
is wrong." 

89 



^trateffic 



That's why I keep a skipping and a run- 
ning in and out 
Until I 'm really certain that no Grown-ups 
are about; 
And then I slip away 
Just a minute from my play, 
And rest as hard as possible to last me 
through the day. 



90 



Ko^teti 



LOSTED 

T FEEL so far from anywheres! 

^ Perhaps my family 

Has got so many other cares 

They've all forgotted me. 
I s*pose I '11 starve to skin an' bone 
If I stay losted here alone. 

My little dog, he founded me, 
An' wagged his tail an' whined. 

But he can't lead me home, for he 
Is taught to walk behind. 

And so I 'm crying yet, becuz 

I 'm just as losted as I was. 



91 



1^0 €rabrier 



NO TRAVELER 

T 'D love to ride on railroads every day 
^ And sit up by the window, — wouldn't 

you? 
To watch the world all rush the other way 
And make believe where it is running to. 
But once — it wasn't far — 
I took Kitty on a car, 
And I guess there 's lots of other things a 
cat 'd rather do. 



A kitty does n't care about the view, 

And she 's frightened by the jiggle of 
the floor; 
It makes you feel ashamed to have her 
mew. 
But she's stronger 'n she ever was before ! 
Though traveling is fun. 
With almost any one, 
I never want to travel with a kitty any more. 



92 



^'f$tat nip SDolIic^* ^^rapct** 



"HEAR MY DOLLIES' 
PRAYER" 

OLORD, I pray Thee, hear my dollies* 
prayer, 
And teach them how to ask for what is 
right; 
But if it's going to give You extra care, 
Then You might skip My blessings for 
to-night. 
Please make them all more loving and 
polite ; 
I pray Thee not to let their covers tear. 
But keep their sawdust stuffings out of 
sight. 
And please help Anne to grow a head of 
hair. 

I wish poor Bella's knees were made to 
bend, 
I truly am as sorry as can be. 
93 



I hope that You won't mind, and that 
You '11 send 
The blessings that each dolly asks of 
Thee. 
And, Lord, I pray that You will just 
pertend 
This is my dollies talking, 'stead of me. 



94 



a^cntiing 2Dap 



MENDING DAY 

T TOW quickly children's clothes will rip 
^ ^ and tear ! 

Each time I put off mending till so late, 
I re'lize that a family of eight 

Can give a loving mother lots of care. 
If more get born I really do declare 

I '11 put 'em into bed and make 'em v^ait. 
My brother hopes to learn to operate. 

But there is not a child that I would spare. 

He 's borrowed three that he pertends are 
dead. 
But I won't even think of such a thin' ! 
And yet at mending time I 've often said 
I almost wished — though p'raps it is a 
sin — 
That God had sent some paper dolls instead 
Whose clothes are only painted on their 
skin. 



95 



€l)e a^i^^ionatp*^ Wmisi\ttt 



THE MISSIONARY'S 
DAUGHTER 

T HAVE N'T sewed my children's clo'se 
* For days, the way I 'd like to do ; 
I don't neglect 'em, goodness knows, 

'Cept when it is my duty to; 
They're less important, anyhow, 

'Cause I 'm a missionary now. 

My heathen doll 's not half so dear 
As all my Christian children there. 

And that 's what makes my duty clear 
To always give him speshul care; 

'Cause I have found it wrong to do 
The things I 'm always wanting to. 



96 



oBooti Jaunting 



GOOD HUNTING 

'T^ ABLE-LEG Jungle is dark and still, 

^ There 's snakes in the Carpet Glade, 
And lions and tigers on Sofa Hill, 

But I 'm never a bit afraid. 
My dog, I know, is a trusty brute, 
And I 've got a gun that '11 really shoot. 

Once there was Indians under the bed. 

But I hunted 'em all away; 
There 's elephants hiding there now in- 
stead — 

They 're perfectly safe to-day, 
'Cause I 'm near the cavern of Easy-Chair, 
And I scent the track of a Teddy Bear! 

If I was like nurse or like baby Sis, 

What never has fired a gun, 
I guess I wouldn't be brave as this! 

They 'd both of 'em cry and run. 
But I '11 stalk him down and I '11 shoot him 

through, 
And I '11 make him into a Teddy-stew. 

97 



€|)e 25acfetDarD €Ia^^ 



THE BACKWARD CLASS 

T TELL them all that A 's for appetite, 
^ And B 's a bone, and C 's a Pussy cat, 
And though they do not pay attention 
quite 
The way they should, I think they 
growled at that. 
They Ve been to school all day there 
on the mat, 
And yet they will not learn their letters 
right; 
Their little tummies are so very fat 
I fear their brains are crowded just a mite. 

I cannot make them consecrate their thought, 
Not even though I scold them some, and 
frown. 
They don't get half the discipline they 
ought, 
Their eyes are so affectionate and brown ! 
I don't believe that scholars can be taught 
Who lick your face and bark and tumble 
down. 

98 



€Ije flp in ti^c <fi)intmcnt 



THE FLY IN THE 
OINTMENT 

T NEVER care when my feet are wet, 
^ Though grown-ups worry so; 
I never trouble how cold I get, 

I 'm tougher 'n people know. 
And the coldest kind of a day just suits, — 
But I hate when snow gets into my boots. 

I like it often to storm and blow, 

And not every day be fair. 
I run and jump in the deepest snow: 

When a snowball hits me square 
I ain't the kind that hollers and scoots, — 
But I hate when snow gets into my boots. 

I 'd never button my coat at all 

If people would let me be. 
I ain't afraid when I slip and fall 

In snowdrifts up to my knee. 
And the drifts in front of our houses are 

beauts ! — 
But I hate when snow gets into my boots. 
99 



%t tt^t 3llquarium 



AT THE AQUARIUM 

TTISHES swimming in and out 
^ Till my eyes grow dizzy, 
What 's the task that you 're about, 
Keeping you so busy? 



Are you meant, as people say. 
Just to throw a hook at, — 

Or be brought from far away, 
For us all to look at? 

Dogs and horses know my words. 
Cats are warm and homey; 

Cows and mice and even birds 
Sometimes get to know me. 

Yet you stare with not a wink. 

Seeming not to see me. 
Are there thoughts we both can think. 

Something strange and dreamy? 

ICG 



%t tfjc 3[quariuni 



I may puzzle you as much! 

And I wonder whether, 
When I see your noses touch, 

You all talk together. 

There *s another world, it seems, 
That you drift and dart in, 

Full of ways and deeds and dreams 
I can have no part in. 



lOI 



''^a\$ 



**PALS*' 

T *VE learnt to sift the flour in, and the 

^ way it ought to mix, 

And I know that more is needed if the stuff 

is soft and sticks. 
I *m not just sure of all the things you need 

for making dough, 
But that *s the sort of kind of thing a man 

don*t have to know. 
Cook says I 'm such a help to her that 

every day she wishes 
I could be there advising her and licking 

off the dishes. 



I02 



lUunneti 3lltoap 



RUNNED AWAY 

DEAR SIS: I wrote this noat to say 
Ive ben an gone an runned away; I 
gess the fambily Ive got wunt miss me such 
a nawful lot, cuz yesterday you no I had 
a nawful wollupin from dad an nurse she 
scolded me like fun fer sumpthin some one 
else had dun. Last night ma sent me off 
to bed before Id got a chapter read. It 
shows, so fur as I kin see, that no one cares 
a rap fer me. I gess that I aint understood 
and so Ive run away fer good. But sis 
if there is pie to-day fer dinner, snake a 
piece away, and bring it to me when your 
able, youU find me hiding in the stable. 



103 



€t}W 



COWS 

T T THO 'S afraid of a cow? 

^ ^ They 're so gentle and kind 
You can go up quite close 
And they none of 'em mind, 
And they like little girls, so I Ve heard 

people say — 
But I wish — O I wish they was further 
away ! 

Pooh — who *s afraid? 

They 're as good as can be, 

An' one 's a child-cow that is younger than 
me. 

They give us good milk — an* there 's noth- 
ing to fear — 

But I wish, O I wish that my Daddy was 
here! 



104 



l©itf) M>i^ttt'$ SDoII^ 



WITH SISTER'S DOLLS 

TTNOLLS are silly things to play with, 
^*^ There 's so much a boy prefers; 
But at times I have to stay with 
Sister when she tends to hers. 

And besides I often find her, 

(For you know how young she is!) 

Needing some one to remind her 
Of her 'sponsibilities. 

Anne and Lucy, Tot and Ted, 

Do you dollies s^pose 
Thai it *s right to go to bed 

Wearing all your clo^se ? 
Your Mamma '5 too young, I s^peci. 
To be scolded for neglect! 

I 'm a year and one month older 

Than my sister is, and she 
Can't expect (so Mother 's told her) 

To sit up as late as me. 
105 



Wit^ ^i$ttt*$ 2D0lI^ 



So each night, when she is sleeping, 

It *s my duty for awhile 
Just to see if she is keeping 

All her dolls in proper style. 

Anne and Lucy, Tot and Ted, 

Listen here to me I 
Every nighi you go to bed 

Wicked as can be, 
Don^t you s^pose thai Some one cares 
If you never say your prayers? 



io6 



€1)0 Sllnxtou^ farmer 



THE ANXIOUS FARMER 

IT was awful long ago 
That I put those seeds around; 
And I guess I ought to know 

When I stuck 'em in the ground. 
'Cause I noted down the day 

In a little diary book, — 
It's gotten losted somewheres and 
I don't know where to look. 

But I 'm certain anyhow 

They 've been planted most a week ; 
And it must be time by now 

For their little sprouts to peek. 
They 've been watered every day 

With a very speshul care, 
And once or twice I've dug 'em up to 

see if they was there. 

I fixed the dirt in humps 

Just the way they said I should; 
And I crumbled all the lumps 

Just as finely as I could. 
107 



€Ije 5lln]Ciou^ farmer 



And I found a nangle-worm 
A-poking up his head, — 

He maybe feeds on seeds and such, 
and so I squushed him dead. 

A seed *s so very small, 

And dirt all looks the same; — 
How can they know at all 

The way they ought to aim? 
And so I 'm waiting round 

In case of any need; 
A farmer ought to do his best for 

every single seed! 



io8 



Bmc^t 



UNREST 

^T^HE motorman bangs on his noisy gong 
■^ And grins at folks as he whoops 
along, 
Or stops up quick to jerk us: 
Wish 't I was him ! But I 'd like it more 
As a druggist-clerk in a city store, 
A-mixing soda and fizz and pop, — 
Or I 'd be the help in a candy shop. 
Or one of the boys to mind the bell, 
In a uniform in a big hotel 
If it did n*t over-work us ! 
Or I 'd be a tramp, 'cause his folks don't 

care 
If he 's washed his face or has brushed his 

hair; 
Or else be a missionary, so 
That I could get foreign stamps, you know: 
But best of all I would like to go 

And be a clown at a circus. 
There 's other things I might like to be — 
I know I 'm tired of being Me ! 
109 



€Ije tfljinc^e SDoll anti the 25a6p 



THE CHINESE DOLL AND 
THE BABY 

TT THOSE dolly is you? 

^ ^ Dearie me ! I declare 
Your eyes are tipped up and they Ve pulled 

out your hair; 
And your snub little nose, and your fingers 

and toes 
And your curious clo'se 
Kind of frighten me, too! 
Whose dolly is you? 

Whose dolly is you? 

Dearie me! Can it be 

They are tired of dollies, 'way over the sea? 

Does nobody care for a baby out there, 

But cuddles a bear 

Or a doggie or two? 

Whose dolly is you? 

Whose dolly is you? 
Did they send you to me 
no 



€lje €l^mt$t SDoIl anti tfje 25abp 



'Cause they know I 'm as lonesome as lone- 
some can be? 
I 'd like to have dollies like me, for a while, 
But I Ve gone out of style, — 
I 'm nobody's, too ! 
Whose dolly is you? 



Ill 



Wi^m ^ get into 25cti 



WHEN I GET INTO BED 

T 'M never frightened in the dark, 

^ Though I am very small; 

I never sit all scared and hark 

For Ogres in the hall. 

But when my prayers are said 

I have one awful dread, 

That something waits to grab my toes 

When I get into bed! 

I try to think of pleasant things 

Each time I get undressed; 

And how each day no evil brings 

If children do their best. 

But the thought comes in my head, 

As I 'm turning down the spread, 

That something '5 going to grab my toes 

As I get into bed. 

And when there 's nothing more to do, 
With bedclothes open wide. 
It makes me shiver through and through 
A-trying to decide 



I©l)en S e^t into 25eli 



Which foot shall go a-head, 
'Cause I 'm sure I 'd tumble dead 
If something ever grabbed my toes 
As I get into bed. 



113 



5llccounting of Moth 



ACCOUNTING OF STOCK 

COME here, little girl, come here! 
Your daddy has serious fears 
That no one took care, when combing your 
hair, 
To see what became of your ears. 
Why, bless me! I shouldn't have said 
There was one on each side of your head! 
But p'raps it is done that way, for the fun 
Of hearing two secrets as easy as one! 

Come here, little girl, come here? 
Your daddy is anxious to see 
If that nose is in place on your dear little 
face 
Just where it's intended to be. 
Dear, dear, it 's too round at the end ! 
But that '11 be easy to mend, — 

A little girl's nose grows just where it 

grows 
So it '11 be easy to pinch, I suppose. 
114 



SficcDunting of ^tocft 



Come here, little girl, come here! 

Your daddy with trouble is tossed. 
It *s ages since he has counted to see 

That none of your toes have been lost. 
Thank goodness ! there 's ten of 'em here, — 
There was no occasion for fear. 

But everyone knows a little girl's toes 

Should alt hurry with her wherever she 
goes. 

Come here, little girl, come here! 

And cure your poor daddy's alarms. 
He really can't say, from so far away, 

If you've got the right number of arms. 
What! No more than two? Is that right? 
They ought to be fastened in tight. 

But two is n't bad, — and I 'm specially 
glad 

They 're so well adjusted for hugging your 
dad! 



"5 



€c0ttomi^m' 



ECONOMISING 

■pA was tickled when I went 
^ Once and whispered in his ear 
That I wouldn't spend a cent 
Buy in' him a gift this year. 
I would build a fine surprise 
All myself, and ^conomise^ 

So I went and bought a saw — 
Not a toy, but good and strong, — 

And a hammer with a claw 

For the nails I hammer wrong. 

I am sure he '11 like this more 

Than a present from a store. 

Then Pa bought some fancy wood 
When I asked him, though I 'm sure 

If he 's 'quisitive he could 
Guess I 'm makin' furniture. 

If he does, I needn't care, 

For he '11 never guess a chair! 
ii6 



^conomi^in* 



And I went and bought a bitt — 
Makes holes any size I choose: 

Lots of fixin's come with it 
That I'm leamin' how to use. 

P'raps for Christmas time, next year, 

I could make a chiffonier. 

'T wont be long before it 's done, 
Now I Ve boughten tools enough ; 

Buyin* cushions will be fun, 

And some paint and varnish stuff. 

Pa '11 be deeply touched, I know, 

At my 'conomisin' so. 



117 



J^anging ti^t ^tocIUng^ 



HANGING THE STOCKINGS 

CHRISTMAS EVE ! It 's Christmas eve ! 
Supper 's cleared away, — 
Seems as if I can't believe 
That to-day 's to-day ! 

— I don't see a thing, do you, 
We can hang a stockin' to? 

For a month or just about. 

Days would hardly stir, 
Though I crossed their places out 

On the calendar. 

— Pins or nails *11 never stick 

In this hard old chimney brick. 

P'raps as soon as night 's begun 

He'll come stealing in! 
My! It makes the shivers run 

Up and down my skin. 

— May n't I pound a nail up here 
In the woodwork, Mother dear? 

ii8 



Jganging tl^e ^tocfting^ 



Daddy's sock '11 never do, — 

Not a toy wiould fit. 
S'pose we let him stand his shoe 

Just in under it? 
— There ! They 're done. I 'm sleepy, some. 

Bet to-morrow '11 never come ! 



119 



€l)e oEabe^tiroppct:^ 



THE EAVESDROPPERS 

T F little boys don't hurry off to bed 

■^ On Christmas eve, an' try to go sleep, 
But stay awake an' hide around an' peep 
(Er so the grown-up folks have always 
said) , 

Then Santa Claus '11 frown an' shake his 
head. 
An' gather all their presents in a heap — 
Espeshully the ones they 'd wanta keep — 

An' give 'em all to other boys instead. 

But every year I 've wanted so to see ! 

An' maybe he '11 not find me hiding here. 
But if he did, an' left no toys for me, 

I 'd be ez glad I peeked — er pretty near. 
Unless he was so cross that maybe he 

Would take away the things he left last 
year ! 



120 



fatlytt ^pcahfif 



FATHER SPEAKS 

TWrERRY CHRISTMAS, one and all! 
XYX ^hat a sunny holiday! 
Eat our breakfast in the hall? 

Just exactly as you say. 
Move that tree a little bit, 
I keep falling over it. 

Children, show me all your toys. 
There is room to spread them here. 

Yes, that ts a jolly noise, — 
Hold it further from my ear! 

Don't restrain *em, let 'em play, 

Christmas is the children's day. 

Just the things you want have come? 

Queer how Santy seems to know! 
Yes, old fellow, pound your drum. 

You may smash it sooner, so. 
What? More slippers for your dad? 
That makes seven pairs I Ve had. 

121 



father ^peaft^ 



Mary, give that child a lift. 
Those are my cigars he's on. 

Postman calling for a gift? 

'Fraid that my last cent has gone. 

Don't you think it would be wise 

Next month to economize? 

Turn that baby up-side-down! 

See — he 's swallowing a wire ! 
Hello, Uncle! You in town? 

Help ! the Christmas tree 's on fire ! 
Bring some water right away! 
Whoop, Hurrah! It's Christmas Day. 



122 



9llit <©Iti Cl)ri!6ftma3S Carol 



AN OLD CHRISTMAS CAROL 

OH wake ye, little children, 
And be of goodlie cheer. 
Yon sun so high along the sky 

Hath shone two thousand year. 
And once it saw a little child 
In manger lying undefiled. 
And all about the cattle mild 

Did lovingly draw near. 
So wake ye, little children. 

And be of goodlie cheer. 

Oh wake ye, little children. 

And let each heart be gay. 
Good Will to Men they carolled then, 

And why should ye delay? 
Awake, awake, and rise and sing, 
And greet ye every living thing, 
For man and beast did greet your King 

On that first Christmas day! 
Then wake ye, little children. 

For this is Christmas day. 



123 



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